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The whole sub genre of Sherlock Holmes-type mysteries is by its very nature highly intellectual, what with all the deductive reasoning, but this entry in the Mary Russell series is especially so. I was quite tickled to realize that big chunks of the mystery here were to be solved through clues gleaned from extensive reading. I love that Mary can be very--perhaps most--helpful to Holmes from her cozy fireside wingback. It is a position to be envied, and aspired to: armchair detective. Of course there is a fair amount of traipsing that occurs in this story, as Russell and Holmes slog up, down and across the moor, a place unique and moody, gloomy and beautiful, inspiring and deadly. The descriptions are rich and gorgeous, and make me want to see it for myself. I hope it exists as Laurie King writes it here, because it sounds like a weird and wonderful landscape.